Highland Lover: Book 3 Scottish Knights Trilogy (27 page)

After learning of the
Maryenknyght
’s capture, Albany had wasted no time. Early Thursday morning he rode from Stirling to Rothesay Castle on the Isle of Bute, near Glasgow, where the King had resided since his son Davy Stewart, Duke of Rothesay, had died. There, as gently as Albany’s chilly nature allowed, he informed his grace of the disaster that had befallen young James.

As expected, the King took the news badly. Albany thought the shock might kill his grace. Briefly, he thought the King suspected that he, Albany, had arranged James’s capture. But when Albany dulcetly suggested that his grace might harbor such suspicion, the King assured
him of his certainty that no uncle could betray a beloved nephew so, Albany least of all.

Had it been anyone else, the duke might have suspected cynicism, a parsing of words, even mockery. But Robert III was incapable of such duplicity. He
was
capable, however, of persuading himself that what he
wanted
to believe was the truth. Without a qualm, Albany assured him that it was.

The King had invited him to stay longer than overnight, but Albany found his grace’s anguished grief tedious. Scotland had lacked a firm hand for too long, and the duke had much to do. He’d left for Stirling at dawn.

Alyson stared at the enormous rock and thought it a horrid place for the boys to have spent three months of their young lives. If the pirates, or whoever they were, had taken Jamie and Orkney to London, the English king would surely provide better housing than a gannet-ridden rock in the sea.

Men said that London was the finest city in Christendom. Edinburgh and Stirling castles were grand places, so surely their counterparts in London would be grander. Nevertheless, she knew that Jamie would hate being a captive, wherever they housed him. He would also be furious and dreadfully homesick.

If Albany had arranged for the young prince’s capture, he was even more evil than Ivor had deemed him. She hoped no one ever presented her to the duke, because if she had to speak to him, she would surely let her disgust of his actions show.

The sun rose as the ship sailed across the mouth of
the Firth of Forth. The day was mild, with a promise of spring, so Alyson strolled back and forth for a time on the afterdeck. The breeze was not strong enough to call a wind, but it kept the sail full and nudged them slowly along.

When Will brought food for her to break her fast, Mace followed him along the gangway to the steerboard bench nearest the helm.

Alyson asked him how long it would take to reach St. Andrews at such a speed and learned that Jake expected them to arrive by nightfall.

“Truly?”

“Aye, sure, ’tis nigh the same distance from the Bass Rock as the Bass Rock be from Leith,” Mace said.

If she had hoped for more discourse with Jake in the meantime, she was disappointed. She caught his eye several times and felt the warmth of his gaze, but although he was friendly if she spoke to him, he did not linger to talk.

By midday, she was uncertain of which she desired more, to shout her increasing frustration at him or feel his arms wrap around her. The thought of those powerful arms brought a flush to her cheeks and an equal rush of heat into other parts of her body.

Chapter 13

J
ake sensed Alyson’s gaze on him now and again throughout the morning and thought gratefully that, unless the wind began blowing from due north, pushing them backward, they’d reach St. Andrews Bay by nightfall. It occurred to him that he’d likely be wiser to take the lass straight home to MacGillivray House.

The impracticable notion was still teasing him when Mace brought him a mug of hot stew in the forecastle cabin for his midday meal. In the calmer weather, the lads had set up firepots to stew the rabbits they’d shot the day before, along with some roots and berries. That idea of taking the lass home before he met with the bishop had more appeal than leaving her on the
Sea Wolf
in St. Andrews harbor. Not that he could do that either, since they would arrive after dark.

As much as he would have liked to leave her aboard the
Sea Wolf
, the royal burgh of St. Andrews lay in Albany’s shire of Fife, just fifteen miles from his seat at Falkland Castle. Although the duke was unlikely to send a patrol through the burgh after dark unless he suspected mischief afoot there—and Wardlaw had shown little interest in mischief—Jake knew he dared not take the chance,
not with Alyson’s comfort and perhaps even her safety at stake.

Neither, however, could he take her home. St. John’s Town of Perth lay forty-five miles up the Firth of Tay from St. Andrews. Although the wind would be with them, the tide would not. In any event, his sworn duty was to report Jamie’s capture to Wardlaw as swiftly as he could.

That meant he could not bypass St. Andrews even on Alyson’s account.

He remembered then that although St. Andrews Castle was an all-male establishment, it
had
briefly housed noblewomen before. He also recalled that such women had always had a maidservant, an attire woman, or a husband with them.

Through the open door, he looked down the length of the ship to the bench where Alyson liked to sit. She was enjoying her hot meal, presenting her beautiful profile as she talked to Will. When she smiled, Jake gritted his teeth.

He set his empty mug and spoon on the nearby wee table.

Will was describing the days after his father’s death, living with the tanner of Doune, when Alyson saw Jake striding toward them on the gangway and lost the thread of what Will was saying. She failed to notice that she had done so, however, until Will said indignantly, “Did ye stop listening, me lady? Ye didna ought tae ask a chappie questions if ye’re no a-going tae listen tae his answers.”

She looked at him ruefully and said, “You are right, Will. I did ask you what you’d meant by calling the tanner
a grugous molligrumph. But I…” She paused, not wanting to admit that she’d stopped listening because of Jake.

Will stood, saying, “I just meant he were quick tae tak’ leather tae a lad. But I can see why ye stopped heeding me. Cap’n Jake’s looking peevish, and a body needs only good sense tae ken that
that
be time tae get out o’ his way.”

“Nay, Will, stay here. I don’t think he’s angry.”

“Aye, well, I ha’ me doots he’ll want
me
about, any road.”

Proving that Will’s instincts were good, Jake said, “I left my mug and spoon on the table in my cabin, lad. Stow them for me, will you?”

“Aye, sure,” Will said, giving Alyson a sage look. “I kent fine that ye’d ha’ summat for me tae do.”

“You’re a wise lad.”

“Aye, I ha’ a proper head on me shoulders. Ye said so yourself.”

“Go,” Jake said.

Will ran off, and Alyson scooted over on her bench to make room for Jake. As she did, she said, “Will said you were looking peevish. That’s why he thought you’d send him away.”

“He was right. We must have a talk, lass, before we reach St. Andrews.”

“Now is a good time then, is it not?”

He nodded. “Sithee, I had meant to leave you on the
Sea Wolf
whilst I talked with Wardlaw. But we’ll arrive after dark, and Albany might send a night patrol through town. He does so often, and they are always curious about vessels in the harbor. I failed to consider that because I’d hoped to arrive earlier, report to Wardlaw, and take you on home afterward.”

“I doubt that Albany’s men would trouble me, sir. If you leave Mace and mayhap one or two of the others—”

“Sakes, lass, I’ll leave lads to guard the
Sea Wolf
in any event. I’m more concerned about Albany’s men being disrespectful to you or blathering to others that I keep a woman aboard. Without another female to lend you countenance, we’d be wise to keep your identity to ourselves.”

She understood him at once. The situation aboard the
Sea Wolf
had not troubled her in the least, because she trusted him and his men. However, his bluntness stirred thoughts of how her family might view her return on a ship full of men, without Niall or Ciara to protect her.

“In troth, sir, if you worry about what my parents might say, you need not. Some of my kinsmen—”

“I ken two of your kinsmen fine,” he said dryly. “Ivor will have things to say and will say them, come what may. Fin will let Ivor do the talking and will agree with much of it. But they will both know that you’ve been safe with me.”

“For the most part,” she said softly.

He smiled a little. “Aye, for the most part. I don’t mean to apologize for the other part, either. I enjoyed it too much to make a sincere apology. But I should warn you that Wardlaw is likely to take a dimmer view of it.”

“I don’t see why he should,” she said, raising her chin. “Since I have never met the man, he can have no cause to think ill of me.”

“Not of you, nor of me, I hope,” Jake said. “But he’s unlikely to approve of your having been the sole female on my ship. Few people would approve of that.”

“But you rescued me! Had you not, I’d have drowned on the
Maryenknyght
.”

“Even so, lass. I tell you this, because I must ask him to house you in the castle overnight, to be safe. Doubtless he’ll know a respectable townswoman who can bear you company whilst we are there. However, I don’t know him as well as I knew Bishop Traill, and when he hears my report, his thoughts will be for Jamie and Orkney. I wanted to prepare you lest I’ve misjudged his most likely reaction.”

Ever practical, she said, “I’ll do as you say, sir.”

“Good lass. He may insist that we take that respectable woman along when I return you home. If he does, her presence may ease your family’s concerns.”

“I tell you, sir, the only one who might speak harshly of my coming home with you after such an ordeal as we had would be Great-Aunt Beatha, for she does have a sharp and ready tongue. But she will be more worried about Niall’s fate… aye, and mine as his wife, too, if we cannot prove he is dead.”

He pressed his lips together, and she wondered why. Although he had expressed skepticism about her dream of Niall in a coffin, she knew that Jake was as certain as she that Niall was dead.

A twinge of something that must have been his own conscience warned Jake, despite his belief that Clyne was dead, of the lingering possibility that God had worked a miracle—or Auld Clootie had worked his devilry—and the blasted fool remained alive somewhere.